The Journey in the Box
by Some1tookmyname
Summary: Brennan reflects on how she got where she is now. I guess spoilers for a good chunk of the series, really, but again, if you are reading fanfic, you know it all already.


_Not my characters. So not my characters. I'm just borrowing them for a little while_. _All mistakes are mine. I hope I didn't make too many and I hope you like it._

**The Journey in the Box**

Temperance Brennan has a box filled with game changers.

Not a metaphorical box, which is one she is often accused of having. She does have one of those, the place where she has locked away feelings and emotions that are all too difficult to express, but that is not the box she is contemplating in front of her bedroom closet.

No, this is an actual box. It's uninteresting to look at, nothing special at all. It's a simple shoe box. It's not adorned with any decorations or labeled in any way, but it's importance should not be underestimated.

The box itself holds nearly as much meaning as the items inside. It's the box from the first pair of nice shoes she bought for herself once she was on her own. In foster care she had always had hand me down shoes, or shoes from the second hand store. Her nicest foster family had bought her some "church shoes" which she was only allowed to wear to a church she dreaded going to every Sunday morning. They were a size too small, cheaply made and she thought they were ugly, but at least they were new. When she had first gone to college she was beyond broke, so she continued on with second hand footwear. But at the age of twenty-one, after saving for nearly a year, she blew over $100 on shoes for herself. They were suede pumps, not always practical, but she loved them and wore them as often as she could. They made her feel successful, like she could accomplish anything she wanted, and she accomplished a lot while wearing them: she got her first real anthropology related job in those shoes, went on her first date in those shoes, was wearing them when she got her acceptance letter to graduate school.

Keeping the shoes had been impractical and silly, of course. After a while she simply couldn't justify keeping them, much less wearing them. They were worn down and worn out. She had had them repaired once or twice, but there was no saving them. And although she told herself she was not sentimental and did not mind throwing out the shoes, she also convinced herself that the box they came in would be a handy thing to keep. One could always use a good, sturdy box.

Slowly, over the years, various items had gone into the box. Some of them are good memories, some are painful, all are physical reminders of events that changed her in some way. Some things are profound, some less so, but all are important to who she used to be and the journey to who she is now.

She doesn't take the box out often. Brennan doesn't believe in dwelling on the past. As far as she is concerned there is nothing to be gained from reliving history. But something compels her to keep her box of memories.

When she does open it, she takes out each item and reflects for a bit about what it means to her before she puts the newest item into the box.

A new item is what brings her to her closet today. She reaches to the farthest dark corner of her top shelf and, with the tip of one finger, snags the box, drawing it forward so she can grab it with both hands. She sits down on the floor leaning on one hip, her legs tucked half beside and half underneath her, peeking out from her robe and her wet hair is air drying after her shower. She smiles as she remembers her first shoes and glances into her closet to see more than thirty expensive pairs, a reminder of just how far she has come.

She takes the lid off and surveys the things inside, taking out each item in chronological order, of course, and thinking about how each one came to earn it's place in the box.

The first item she pulls out is a letter from the university, recognizing her completion of coursework and requirements of graduation. She hadn't gone to the actual ceremony. Those were for people with families and she hadn't had any. Her actual diploma had arrived in the mail a few weeks later. It was stored in a filing cabinet at the lab. For some reason this paper, the first real proof that she'd succeeded in her studies, was better than her history could have predicted, counted more to her than the diploma.

The second is another letter, this one bestowing her with the title "Dr. Brennan." She'd worked hard, harder than ever, to earn that doctorate, to deserve that title. Again she skipped the pomp and circumstance in favor of spending the day at home, reading back issues of anthropology journals, trying to forget she really didn't have anyone to share her accomplishments with.

Next she takes out a visitors pass from the Jeffersonian. Badge 845 with a big "V" for Visitor on it. She'd worn it on the day she'd been interviewed for her position there. She'd felt good about the interview, it was her dream job. She signed out at the security desk, but when the guard had turned his head she had impulsively and perhaps foolishly pocketed the badge. It was so unlike her, such a ridiculous thing to do and even now she didn't fully understand why she did it. Perhaps as a reminder, if she didn't get the job, of just how close she'd been. When she had gotten the job, she kept the pass. Obviously returning it would require an explanation she simply didn't have. She still smiled sometimes when she passed the security desk, knowing she was the last person who would ever be Visitor 845.

Setting the pass beside her she moves on to the next item. It's a caricature of her and Angela. Angela had drawn it as a birthday gift for Brennan the first year they'd met. It was the first time in years anyone had acknowledged her birthday. It was the first time ever Brennan knew she really had a true friend. She smiled at the picture, a silly one of the two of them in a convertible, their heads entirely too large for their bodies and the car, their hair blowing behind them, on a road that disappeared into the background. A street sign that said "Paris" pointed the direction the car was driving and the license plate said "BFFS." Angela had had to explain what that meant and even now it could make Brennan teary just thinking about it. Angela loved her, the first real warmth she'd felt from another person in ages. She wasn't alone anymore.

She takes a deep breath as she sets the picture aside and pulls out a piece of paper. It's folded several times and on the outside is her handwriting with one single word. "Booth." It's another letter, one she wrote this time, an instance when she truly believed she might never see her partner again. When she honestly thought she might die. It was the first time she realized he held a special place in her heart… a place she was too afraid to name. Hodgins had given her the paper, asked her if there was anyone she wanted to say goodbye to. And she hadn't had to think twice about who that would be. She had told Hodgins she knew what Booth could do and that he would find them. He'd said "What you have is faith, Baby." And he was right. She had been afraid to name that as well. She had slipped the letter into her pocket, thinking that if she died, they would find it on her. He would read it and understand his value in her life. He would know that she had listened to him and learned from him and that he should not blame himself for her death because she knew with certainty he'd done everything he could to save her.

But she hadn't died and the letter had gone into the box as a symbol of that experience. An experience that made Hodgins a friend instead of a colleague and an experience that solidified the importance not just of Booth, but of her team…their team.

Letting out a shaky exhale, she puts Booth's letter on top of Angela's drawing and pulls out a small plastic baggie. Her eyes begin to swim with tears and her heart clutches in her chest. No one knows she has it… it's the only other thing she's ever stolen besides that Visitor's badge.

It's the bullet that killed Booth.

Of course she knows now he hadn't been killed, but at the time she truly thought she'd lost him forever. His blood had soaked her fingers, coating them with his life while she begged him to hold on, to stay with her. It had been the single worst night of her life. Everything she'd slowly been letting go of came screaming back. It's not safe to love. Everyone leaves. No one stays forever. There is no "forever."

That moment, that time when she thought he was dead was when she realized she loved him. She had requested to see the evidence. She'd needed the facts to wrap her brain around the notion that she had loved him and he was gone. The FBI had denied her. However, they had not denied Cam and Cam had casually mentioned that she might have left the file on her desk. Brennan read and reread that file, as if it were her life line to Booth, as if it connected her to him somehow. Cam had finally had to tell her that she needed to "rediscover" it on her desk within the next few hours because the FBI wanted it back.

And so Brennan had replaced the bullet with another one of the same caliber and kept this one for herself as a horrible reminder of how tenuous life is, how one moment can change everything for the worse.

In the end he'd only been faking his death, but her lessons had been learned and her walls had been partially rebuilt. She couldn't bear that kind of pain again.

Laying the bullet to the side, the next item causes the tears to spill over.

It is a picture of her with Zach. They were in the lab, standing over a skeleton, looking at one another. Neither of them were talking or smiling, but they were looking at each other and the camera caught that air of understanding that had so often passed between them. She didn't know when the picture had been taken, it was sometime after he had defended his thesis but before Iraq. Chronologically it probably didn't fit in after Booth had been shot, but it was shortly after that when they realized that Zach had lost his way. He'd become Gormagon's assistant, betrayed her trust, betrayed all of their trust, and had proven to her that sometimes even logic can fail you. It had rattled her to her very core and the walls that had been half built after Booth's "death" went all the way back up.

Wiping the tears off her cheek she silently promises herself she will visit Zach soon and sets the picture next to Booth's bullet.

Another picture makes her smile. It's a picture of Booth and Parker at the pool in her building. They had stopped by on their way in, despite the fact that they had a key, and begged her to join them. She had given in. Two Booths with charm smiles were two too many and she hadn't stood a chance. She'd grabbed her camera on a whim and had caught them in a moment that had taken her breath away. They'd been having a water fight and Booth had snuck up behind Parker and lifted him, foisting him toward the deep end. The boy was flying through the air in the picture and both Booths were grinning with unbridled glee. What the picture didn't show was that they had ganged up on her next and doused her by way of water guns. It had been the perfect day. It had been spontaneous and fun and innocent, totally apart from the gloom their work held daily and for a moment she could pretend that she and Booth and Parker were their own little family free of all the evils of the world.

The last item in the box is the small stump of a candle. Technically it holds no more meaning than the dates they had burned, but still, it found it's way into the box. It was the promise of things to come that made it box worthy. They had talked a little. She was still a bit too impervious, he was still too angry, but it was clear they wanted the same thing: a chance with each other. And so they had written down dates and burned them with that candle, sending the wishful particulates into the universe. And for the first time in a long time, she'd felt hopeful that maybe she could allow Booth to love her and that she would have the chance to try love him equally in return. Lovingly, she remembers that it wasn't a date that she wrote, but a single sentence. "When Booth is ready."

She lays the candle to the side and stares into the empty box for a moment. She realizes that all the items in the box brought her to the Jeffersonian, to Booth, to her life as she knows it now, and for all the emotions that have cycled up and down it was all totally and completely worth it.

She slides her hand into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a baggie, bigger than the bag that holds Booth's bullet and smiles. In it is a pregnancy test. More importantly, it's a positive pregnancy test. Her smile grows as she remembers Booth's reaction on the street. She'd been so petrified of what he might say, but he'd kissed her and been happy and reassured her that babies were wonderful. So she chose not to fight it, to believe it was fate and allow herself to trust what he said and believe in them and their future as a family. This memory, this test in a sandwich baggie, was by far the biggest game changer of them all.

She places the test in the box and puts all the rest of the items in as well, surveying all the physical evidence of her life one last time before replacing the lid. What will be the next thing that makes it's way into the box? What will come next?

She stands, the box in her hands, that thought in her head, when her phone starts ringing. Recognizing the ring tone as Booth's, she shoves the box back to it's home on the shelf and dashes for her phone.

"Brennan."

"We've got a case. Pick you up in ten?" Booth is all business in tone and she is thankful for that. There are some things she'd prefer didn't change. She still wants to work with him as she always has.

"Fine. I'll be ready." She responds equally professionally.

"How are you feeling?" His tone softens and she is thankful for that as well.

"I'm okay."

"Not sick?"

"No." She frowns a bit. "Although morning sickness is misnamed. Yesterday it hit me at lunchtime."

"Move slow, don't fight it if it comes. I'll be there soon."

"I'll meet you out front."

She throws on her clothes, hastily applies her makeup and tosses her hair into a ponytail, bolting out the front door and downstairs to meet him. He pulls up just as she steps outside. She gets in the passenger side, pulls on her seatbelt, rests her left elbow on the arm rest as she always has, causing a slight lean in Booth's direction and is ready to go.

"Heya Bones." He smiles.

"Hi Booth." She smiles back.

He reaches with his right hand and takes her left hand, gives it a squeeze and leaves his hand over hers, pulling out of the driveway one handed.

He has no intention of letting go.

And neither does she.

~The End~

Please review. I love hearing what you think and it only takes a moment.

Extra note: I have to say, just because my very first reviewer for this story (KRM) pointed it out and it made me laugh, that almost all my friends kept their pregnancy test for at least their first babies. They have caps you can put on them if you want, Brennan also put hers in a sandwich bag, as did I. Sorry if the whole world isn't as sentimental as me and my friends. I guess I figured it was a sappy, universal truth and not a gross out! LOL!


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